"She discovered the same person was in each of the stores right before the robberies took place." Darcy pulled out black-and-white photos, and Grace recognized them as stills from the surveillance cameras, the date and time stamped in the corners. And in each photo there was the same young man.
"Look, I'm sorry, but this is ridiculous," Sanchez was at it again. "What the hell does this have to do with anything?"
"One of the videos shows him opening a door to one of the refrigerated cases," Darcy said, ignoring Sanchez. "He left his fingerprints up high and inside. I went back yesterday and after a week it was still there-no others, not that high."
"I hope you're getting to some point soon."
"He's one of our bank robbers," she said, pointing to the young man in the grainy photo. "The prints inside the refrigerated case's door match the ones on the inside window of the Saturn."
This time even Sanchez was quiet.
"But I can't give you a name because he's not in the system."
"Holy crap!" Pakula said, rubbing a hand over his face then up over his head. "You were right, Grace. It's the convenience-store robbers escalating."
"Or practicing." Grace waited for the idea to sink in. "I still think it's Bamett. You said the gas station clerk was shot. Where?"
Pakula wouldn't meet her eyes and she knew even before he said, "In her face. Her jaw was ripped open."
"Any connection to Jared and the bank teller?" Grace asked.
"None that I can find." Pakula pulled out a file and flipped it open. "She went for much older men than Bar-nett. The only connection I could make was that she used Max Kramer last spring to get her out of a DUI conviction, which he's still calling her about. She probably stiffed him for the bill. One of her roommates thinks she had a rich married guy wound around her little finger, but I have her phone records for the last several months right here and I haven't found the mysterious guy named Jay. Oh, and we have this," Pakula said, tossing a plastic bag containing a piece of jewelry onto the table. "Wes Howard found this in the mud next to the Saturn. It was Tina Cervante's. Given to her by JMK, her supposed mystery man."
"Wait a minute," Grace said. "I've just seen those initials somewhere." And she started riffling through the papers she had received yesterday for Carrie Ann Comstock's drug case. "Here it is." She pulled out a document and threw it down on the table next to the locket with the initials JMK. At the bottom of the document was the stamped initials JMK next to the signature-J. Maxwell Kramer. "Is it possible Tina Cervante was having an affair with her attorney?" she asked.
CHAPTER 61
8:53 a.m.
Andrew didn't know what was going on. He had heard Jared yelling, car doors slamming and then a car screeching away. Now Charlie sat on the end of the bed, staring at the TV and flipping the channels, though he didn't appear to be watching or looking for anything in particular. Mel-anie paced the length of the room, taking quick glances when she passed the window. Neither one of them seemed to be aware that he was even in the room.
He had asked Jared earlier to untie him and had gotten, instead, a look of contempt, hollow-eyed with just enough of a smirk to know he was no longer a novelty to the madman. He was no longer the fascinating author who had captured his interest. Not only had he betrayed the psychopath's trust but now he was excess baggage. Andrew didn't need to rely on research to guess-to know-his time was limited. He also knew his chances with these two would be better than with Jared.
"What happened?" he tried again. Before when he asked he caught a glimpse of Melanie's eyes, enough to realize it was something bad. There was panic there. And there was panic in her short explosive steps. Her entire body seemed to move with a nervous energy that she didn't quite have complete control over. "Did Jared do something?"
"No, I did," Charlie said without blinking, finally settling on the Cartoon Network and a Road Runner and Wyle E. Coyote episode.
"What did you do, Charlie?" He asked it as softly as he could, keeping his own panic from his voice. He tried to ignore the phone cord digging into his wrists. He tried to avoid shifting to a more comfortable position, though he hadn't found one yet. "Charlie, what is it you think you did?" he asked again, trying to duplicate the tone he imagined his friend Tommy Pakula would use, the one that got drug dealers and wife beaters to confess to him. "I'm sure it couldn't have been anything to deserve the way Jared yelled at you."
"No, I screwed up really, really bad." He sounded like a little boy, more like a seven-year-old than a seventeen-year-old. His eyes never left Wyle E. Coyote who'd just blown himself up with a stack of dynamite. "I screwed up again. It's all my fault."
"Stop it!" Melanie's voice made both Andrew and Charlie jump, though Charlie's eyes still didn't leave the TV screen. "I don't want to hear it." She didn't miss a stride of her pacing.
"It's not your fault, Charlie." Andrew had nothing to lose. "All along you've only done what Jared told you to do. You did what Jared wanted you to. But you don't have to do everything he says. You're a good kid. I can tell. You want to do the right thing." He noticed that Melanie had stopped and was now watching him. When she didn't try to stop him, he continued, "You don't have it in you to do the kind of stuff Jared does. You're not like him, Charlie." No response. Charlie didn't even flinch. The Road Runner had just whizzed through one of Coyote's barricades without a scratch and Charlie didn't even blink.